


the heart of a hero

by bilexualclarke



Series: never the same love twice [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogs, F/M, Family Feels, Sick Character, but they have a dog now too, every parent's worst nightmare, your kid gets sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilexualclarke/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: “Mommy?”Clarke sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and squinting at Caleb, who is standing at the foot of the bed.“What’s up, honey?”“I got sick.”Clarke closes her eyes and sighs. It had been a week free from sickness, and she had just finished cleaning every surface of the house.“Did you make it to the bathroom?”“Yeah.” He sniffles. “My head hurts.”Clarke slides out of bed, taking his hand and leading him down the hall. “I know, honey. You’ll feel better soon.”or, the one where something serious happens.





	

**thanks to[ @missemarissa](missemarissa.tumblr.com) for her patience and help with this update <3**

* * *

There is arguably one thing in the world, outside of real-life trauma, that can bring a normally well-functioning family to its knees:

 

The stomach bug.

 

Clarke gets it first. She comes home early from the gallery one day, and only manages to spare Bellamy a pained look before she sprints to the bathroom.

 

“I didn’t even say hi to the kids,” she laments to him an hour later, when he is pressing a cool washcloth to the base of her neck and smoothing her hair into a messy bun.

 

“They don’t exactly want to be near you right now,” Bellamy says, thinking about how Jacob and Amelia fled to their rooms the second they heard Clarke retching. Caleb was a bit more curious, but Bellamy pulled _Mulan_ up on their Netflix and he was soon preoccupied.

 

He helps Clarke into the shower, washing her hair for her as she basically just leans against the tile. Then he gets her into her pajamas, fixes her hair into a tight braid, and settles her into their bed. She passes out after a few minutes, and Bellamy ducks into Jacob’s room.

 

“I’m running to the store quick, bud,” he tells the thirteen-year-old. “Mom’s asleep. Just keep an eye on Caleb and Amelia, okay?”

 

“’Kay,” he says, barely glancing up from his phone.

 

Bellamy smirks. “Tell Kieran I said hello.”

 

Jacob’s head snaps up, his face flushed. “ _Dad_.”

 

Bellamy chuckles, stepping into the room to ruffle his eldest son’s hair. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

 

True to his word, he is, bearing ginger ale, Gatorade, saltines, and the biggest bottle of ibuprofen he could find. Clarke is better by the next evening- better meaning no longer throwing up, but still weak and exhausted. Jacob gets it next, and it makes him miserable, moaning and complaining to anyone who will listen.

 

“Can Argos come up and lay with me?” he begs Clarke, referring to the black Labrador laying on the ground next to his bed.

 

“He’s not allowed on the furniture, honey. You know that.”

 

The two-year-old pup knows the rules of the house, and he listens well. Both Clarke and Bellamy are animal lovers, but his rough childhood wasn’t conducive for pets. Clarke’s mother allowed her to get a dog when she was ten- a cocker spaniel named Lucy- but she came with a strict set of rules. Not being allowed on the furniture of one of them. Seeing as how Clarke and Bellamy had no desire to vacuum the couches three times a day, that rule stuck.

 

Argos lifts his head and rests his chin on Jacob’s mattress. His honey colored eyes fixate on Clarke and she melts.

 

“Please, Mom? He’ll make me feel better.”

 

“Well…I guess I have to wash your sheets once you’re better anyway.” She bites her lip and sighs. “Fine. Just this once.”

 

Jacob’s face lights up. He scoots over and taps the mattress. “Argos, up!”

 

The dog hops onto the bed, turning himself in a circle before settling down and curling up into a ball. Jacob snuggles up next to him, throwing an arm over his furry body. “Thanks, Mom.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Clarke says with a small smile, stepping out of the room. She returns with Bellamy a few minutes later, and they watch in amusement as Argos cuddles up closer to a now-sleeping Jacob, his head pillowed on the boy’s chest.

 

“He’s a furniture dog now, isn’t he?” Bellamy murmurs.

 

Clarke chuckles. “I think so.”

* * *

 

Amelia and Bellamy get sick on the same day. It’s now been five days straight of sickness, and they are all desperate for the end. Clarke alternates between Amelia in the upstairs bathroom and Bellamy down below. To her credit, eight-year-old Amelia handles it like a pro.

 

“When am I going to feel better?” Amelia asks as Clarke rubs her back.

 

“Soon, baby,” Clarke says soothingly. “You’re being so strong.”

 

“Is Dad okay?”

 

“Yeah, he’s just being a baby,” she tells her daughter, thinking of Bellamy whining for Clarke to scratch his back. This gets a laugh out of Amelia, and then a moan when the contractions hurt her stomach.

 

Thankfully, that seems to be the end of it. Caleb never comes down with it, and for that they are grateful. The five-year-old always has the worst luck with illnesses, from the terrible cough he had as a baby to the case of the chicken pox he came down with last spring before he got his school vaccinations.

 

Things get back on track over the next week. The kids go back to school, Bellamy and Clarke go back to work, and Argos continues to be adorable.

 

They adopted the dog when he was four months old. Their friend Harper works at an animal shelter a few towns over, and one day she called Bellamy with a heartbreaking story.

 

“So, someone left a puppy on our doorstep,” she told him over the phone. “He’s a black lab, purebred, about three months old.”

 

“No way,” Bellamy said, picturing what he imagined to be a little lump of black fur. “Is there something wrong with him?”

 

He had said it jokingly, a play on the fact that no one just _abandons_ a purebred lab, one they probably spent a lot of money on. But his stomach drops when Harper answers.

 

“Yes, actually. He’s dying.”

 

The puppy had a blood disease. The shelter workers inferred that his previous owners had been ill-equipped to handle the illness, and they just dumped him at the shelter. The vets there were treating him, and they gave him about ten days. If he made it through those ten days, there would be a good chance he would recover, and then he would need a forever home.

 

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Harper told him. “If he makes it, there will be a lot of work involved. A lot of vet bills. But I’ve seen cases like this before, and love is what makes all the difference. That’s something I know your family would provide.”

 

“I’ll have to talk it over with Clarke,” he said, but his mind was already imagining taking his morning jog with a little friend by his side.

 

“Of course. I just wanted to give you a heads up. We’ll keep you updated.”

 

“Thanks, Harper. Hey, does the little guy have a name?”

 

“Oh!” Harper laughed. “His name is one of the reasons I thought he would be a perfect fit for you, actually. It’s Argos.”

 

In the end, Argos is nothing like they had expected. While Labradors are usually very energetic, his illness left him on the more lethargic side. He has bursts of energy when he wakes up in the morning and when the kids get home from school, but for the most part he is content just flopping down on any available surface. He is incredibly gentle, never once showing and sort of ferocity.

 

 One time, when Caleb wasn’t paying attention, he swung around and knocked one of his toys into Argos’s nose- _hard_. Bellamy had jumped from his seat, certain that the dog would snap at his son, but all Argos did was blink and lick Caleb’s hand.

 

The biggest shock, however, was his silence. Argos didn’t bark. Or whine. Or growl. Harper had told them that it was likely his breeder had bred that habit out of his litter, like they did with Guide Dogs.

 

“I know no one wants a crazy barking dog,” Clarke had remarked one night as they watched Argos run around in the sprinklers with Caleb and Amelia, “but I’d love to hear what his little voice sounds like.”

 

“I swear I heard him grunt at me the other day,” Bellamy said.

 

“That was a snore, and you know it.”

 

“Let me have this!” he laughed. It didn’t really matter to them if their puppy was vocal or not; he communicated in his own way, and they loved him to pieces. Harper was right- a little love was all he needed. Argos is now in perfect health.

* * *

 

The digital clock next to their bed reads 3:10 a.m.

 

“Mommy?”

 

Clarke sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and squinting at Caleb, who is standing at the foot of the bed.

 

“What’s up, honey?”

 

“I got sick.”

 

Clarke closes her eyes and sighs. It had been a week free from sickness, and she had just finished cleaning every surface of the house.

 

“Did you make it to the bathroom?”

 

“Yeah.” He sniffles. “My head hurts.”

 

Clarke slides out of bed, taking his hand and leading him down the hall. “I know, honey. You’ll feel better soon.”

 

But he doesn’t. The bug hits Caleb the worst. He can’t keep anything down, and he doesn’t start to feel better after 24 hours like everyone else. Clarke and Bellamy’s hearts break for him, but they called his doctor and she told them it was best for him to just wait it out.

 

The next night, Caleb is finally sleeping after another round of vomiting, and the rest of the family is downstairs watching a movie in the den. Matilda is about to sneak into the Trunchbull’s house when Argos shoots to his feet and sprints up the stairs. Bellamy sits up, watching curiously.

 

“What the…”

 

Argos flies back down the stairs and starts barking like a maniac. They gape at him in shock. Amelia starts clapping, and Jacob whips out his phone to start recording, but then Argos turns and runs up the stairs again.

 

Bellamy’s stomach drops and Clarke jumps to her feet. “Something’s wrong.”

 

They race up the stairs after Argos and find him pacing and whining outside of Caleb’s room. They burst in, running to his bed.

 

His eyes are rolled back, and his lips are turning blue. He isn’t breathing.

 

“Caleb!” Clarke cries, gathering him into her arms. “Bellamy, call 911.”

 

Bellamy is already dialing. “My son, he’s not breathing.” He relays the information quickly, giving the operator their address before hanging up and returning to his son’s side.

 

Clarke, growing up with a doctor as a mother and going through two years of medical school herself, has a good idea of what to do. Her and Bellamy took many new-parent classes at the local hospital to train them how to respond to these situations. They had just hoped they never needed to use their knowledge.

 

She has already ripped the blankets off him and is turning him onto his side. Bellamy helps to put a pillow under Caleb’s head, and when Clarke reaches up to brush his dark curls off his forehead, Bellamy notices her hands are shaking.

 

“He’ll be okay,” he murmurs. As soon as the words come out of his mouth, Caleb’s body seems to relax and he takes a deep, gulping breath.

 

“Oh, Caleb,” Clarke sobs, rubbing his back. “Just breathe, baby, okay?”

 

Caleb’s eyes return to normal, and he blinks at them deliriously, still taking uneven breaths. Bellamy smiles at him as he hears sirens in the distance. His eyes flutter shut when the ambulance pulls into their driveway, but Bellamy can still see his little chest rising and falling, so the sight doesn’t worry him as much.

 

When he goes downstairs to let the paramedics in, he nearly trips over Jacob and Amelia, who are hanging outside of the room with Argos at their heels.

 

“Is Caleb okay?” Amelie asks, her eyes watering.

 

“He has to go see the doctors first but I think he is, sweetie.”

 

“I called Aunt ‘Tavia,” Jacob says solemnly. “She’s on her way over to stay with us while you go to the hospital.”

 

“Good job, bud,” Bellamy says affectionately. He kneels to scratch Argos’s head. “And you? You’re a real good boy, aren’t you?”

 

The sight of the EMTs loading his son onto a stretcher nearly makes Bellamy vomit. He climbs into the ambulance with Clarke, a lump in his throat. Octavia arrives just as they’re leaving and herds the kids inside, but he can see them peering out the windows in the living room. He gives them a wave before the door of the vehicle slams shut.

 

Bellamy holds Caleb’s hand on the drive. It’s small and smooth, a few shades lighter than his and a few shades darker than Clarke’s- a perfect combination of the two of them. He runs his fingers over the tiny bumps of Caleb’s knuckles like he’s done a million times before. Of all his children, Caleb is the softest.

 

He didn’t cry much as a baby, and he doesn’t speak much as a child. His eyes, the same dark brown as Bellamy’s own, have always expressed more emotion than his words could convey.

 

When he was one year, two months, and sixteen days old, he took his first steps. Bellamy had yet to even meet Clarke by the time Jacob took his, and Amelia took hers in the bathroom of a Target, climbing out of her stroller while Clarke was trying to pee. But Caleb took his right in front of Bellamy, right on their living room floor.

 

They had been sitting on the floor next to the couch, a documentary on Ancient Rome droning on in the background while Caleb bashed two of Amelia’s Lincoln Logs together.

 

“Dada,” Caleb says, waving the log in his left hand at Bellamy. “Dada, you.”

 

“You want to give that to me?” Bellamy asks. Caleb flashes him a toothy grin. “Oh, how nice of you.”

 

Caleb reaches out again, this time frustrated that he cannot reach his dad.

 

“Come over here and give it to me,” Bellamy encourages him, opening his arms. “You know how to crawl, little man, don’t be lazy.”

 

Caleb flops forward onto all fours, and Bellamy thinks he’s about to crawl over, but instead his eyes narrow and with an adorable baby grunt he pushes himself to his feet.

 

“Caleb!” Bellamy cries out, watching in amazement as his son takes one, two, three determined steps forward before falling into his arms with a delighted shriek. “You did it, little man! You walked!”

 

And Caleb had looked up at Bellamy with the brightest smile, his big brown eyes alight with excitement, and in that moment Bellamy felt that his son could do anything.

 

He is snapped out of his reverie by Clarke’s hand on the back of his neck.

 

“We’re here,” she murmurs, her thumb rubbing soothingly just above the hem of his shirt. Bellamy clears his throat and nods, reluctantly letting go of Caleb’s hand so the paramedics could get him out of the vehicle.

 

After they wheel him inside, Clarke is barely able to press a kiss to his forehead before he is pushed through a set of double doors, surrounded by doctors all yelling things that Bellamy vaguely recognizes but cannot begin to process. Once the doors swing shut, they are left alone in the hallway.

 

Wordlessly, Bellamy opens his arms and Clarke curls into them. She tucks her face into the crook of his neck, his arms tight around her back, and they both finally allow themselves to cry.

 

* * *

The diagnosis comes in a few hours later. The doctor informs them that Caleb suffered a febrile seizure due to a high fever. The fever was a result of viral meningitis, which had many similar symptoms to the flu that had been going around. Thankfully, they are confident he will make a full recovery and even be discharged in a day or two if he responds well to treatment. 

 

Octavia brings the kids in to visit once Caleb is stable, in the early hours of the morning. He is drowsy, but fairly alert, and he listens with a small smile as his siblings tell him about how Argos saved his life.

 

Amelia, who is normally a little spitfire, is uncharacteristically quite when the nurse comes in to give Caleb his medicine.

 

“Hey, little bean,” Clarke says, reverting to her daughter’s baby nickname. “You want to come with me to get some food?”

 

She nods mutely, standing up from her chair next to Caleb’s bed and following Clarke out the door.

 

“Get me some Doritos! The red ones, not the blue!” Jacob calls after them. Amelia doesn’t even roll her eyes, despite the fact that it’s barely nine a.m.

 

In the cafeteria, Clarke grabs a few pre-made egg sandwiches for herself and Bellamy. She offers one to Amelia, who mutely shakes her head and grabs a Poptart from the rack next to the register. Ordinarily, Clarke would insist on a healthier breakfast, but she lets it slide this time.

 

“Let’s sit,” she suggests, nodding to an empty table in the corner.

 

“We’re not going back to the room?”

 

“Nah, let’s let the guys have their time.” Clarke sits down and unwraps her breakfast. “We haven’t had our girl time in a while.”

 

Bellamy and Clarke make it a point to spend alone time with each of their children _at least_ once a week. They find it extremely important for the whole family to spend time together, too, but now that the kids are getting older and adding more to their schedules, both Bellamy and Clarke want to make sure no child is feeling left out or smothered.

 

Amelia has soccer practice at five on Thursdays, and Clarke usually takes her out for pizza and frozen yogurt afterwards, which means the boys have the house to themselves for the evening.  But last practice Clarke was sick, and this week’s practice got rained out, and Clarke’s stomach sinks when she realizes the last time she was truly alone with her daughter was almost five days ago.

 

“You know you can talk to me,” Clarke says when Amelia doesn’t respond. “I know last night was scary, and it’s weird as hell seeing Caleb like this, isn’t it?”

 

Normally, the slip of a curse word would make her squeal, delighted to catch her mother in the wrong.

 

“ _Swear jar, swear jar! Dollar in the swear jar_ ,” she had taunted last week, when Clarke had said “shit” after stubbing her toe. She was relentless until Clarke finally dropped a dollar inside the mason jar on their kitchen counter, which Clarke was beginning to believe was going to fund their next family vacation.

 

But this time, the only sound that comes from Amelia is the crinkling of plastic as she slowly unwraps her blueberry Poptart.

 

“What do you say we go home and grab Argos and try to sneak him in?”

 

Nothing.

 

And then:

 

“Are you and Dad going to get sick, too?” Amelia mumble, staring at the table. Clarke freezes. “I-I don’t want Caleb to die and I don’t want you and Dad to d-die either.”

 

Clarke drops her food and jumps out of her chair, immediately cradling Amelia in her arms as she starts to sob.

 

“Shh, little bean, it’s okay. No one is dying.”

 

“B-but when they took Caleb away he looked dead,” Amelia cries, burying her face into Clarke’s chest. “I was so scared.”

 

“You know what, little bean? Me, too. I was terrified.” Amelia looks up at her with bloodshot eyes, hiccupping. Clarke wipes away her tears with her thumb and continues. “And it’s okay to feel like that. It’s normal to feel scared when someone you love is in danger. But you can’t live in fear of something happening to someone, alright?”

 

Amelia nods, her breath slowly returning to normal.

 

“Caleb has a lot of really good doctors and nurses looking after him right now, and they say he’s going to be fine. As for me and Dad? We’re not sick, and we aren’t planning to die anytime soon. We want to be around to annoy you guys for a long time.”

 

This gets her a laugh, and Clarke’s shoulders sag in relief. She presses a kiss to her daughter’s head and slowly disentangles herself, returning to her own chair. Amelia is more animated as they finish breakfast, reverting to her usual sassy self as she tells Clarke about how a girl name Misty in her class tried to give herself bangs and- _Mom, they don’t work. They just don’t_.

 

(When they get back to Caleb’s room, Amelia chucks a bag of red Doritos at Jacob’s head.)

* * *

 Caleb is discharged two days later. When they get home, Argos is waiting for them. He doesn’t bark, just runs between them all like usually, excitedly licking at their hands and faces. Once things settle down and they get Caleb into bed, Argos hops up and lays next to him, looking up at Clarke and Bellamy with an expression that says: “Try to move me. I dare you.”

 

“Hey, we’re sick buddies,” Caleb says with a soft laugh, gently scratching the top of Argos’s head. “And I’m going to get better, just like you, Argos.”

 

“Yeah, little man, you are,” Bellamy says thickly.

 

Clarke moves suddenly, kneeling next to her son’s bed and throwing her arms around the dog. She chokes back a sob as she squeezes the one responsible for saving Caleb’s life.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers. Argos’s heart beats strong and steady against her cheek in response.

_The heart of a hero._

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to make fun of me for the world's sappiest ending, find me on tumblr  
> (bilexualclarke)


End file.
